So lately my brain had been confused about whether I am considering becoming an atheist. I say this because in the last few weeks I have found myself debating the points in my head why it would be a bad idea for everyone else were I to make that decision, without an easily discernible source.
You see, I am quite happy believing in my all-powerful, all-good, loving Creator who saved me by dying as a man and coming back to life. I am convinced that everything good in my life has come from Him, that all my problems are a result of the sins of humanity (primarily my own), and that He is the solution.
Yet I find myself thinking about nihilism. I think about what the world would seem to me if God did not exist, and basically it all looks like ashes to me without Him.
Now, I am going through a real crisis of sorts, trying to find my feet in a flood of friends and peers throwing their support behind homosexuality (and the topic of marriage especially). A year ago I knew what to think, but what complicates it is first, the number of people, including close friends, who are altering or tweaking their stance, and second, the compelling arguments made by such folks.
But I don't really believe that either stance on homosexuality is going to keep someone from heaven. Its just that I am beginning to feel singled out and I don't know if I should welcome it or reevaluate my own convictions more fully than these checks my system keeps seeming to run without me. Either way this isn't making me doubt the existence of God.
If anything, that would be my friends. I have one or two friends who are wrestling and angry with my Loving Savior, and perhaps my mind is trying to place itself in their shoes to try and understand where they're coming from. The problem is for me the existence of God is axiomatic, that is, so intrinsic to my understanding of the universe that without Him nothing means anything. I have a line of reasoning to back this up, rooted in philosophy, and maybe there'll be a blog post on that.
But when I'm thinking about these things I am not intentionally trying to put myself in another's shoes. I seem to be deciding on that subconsciously and skipping to the part where I have strong emotional responses to trying to imagine a universe without its source of meaning. It's not even helpful for these friends because my response sort of devolves into "disbelieving God is stupid for reasons I find hard to articulate because I emotions and there are a lot of reasons."
Couple this with my general dissatisfaction with grunt working life, the pittance of writing I am doing, finances, and sundry, and you have another part of my brain observing the part that's having emotional reactions and asking the general overseer if I'm okay. To which I respond:
"Nope, not really."
At least I don't ask myself if I want to talk about it. Instead I start composing a blog post in my head.
Or in this case actually writing one.
This has been a peek at my brain. Sorry if it scarred you. And don't worry about me, I'm as okay ever.
Showing posts with label religion. Show all posts
Showing posts with label religion. Show all posts
Monday, July 22, 2013
Thursday, July 19, 2012
Serengeti
I guess the first thing I should mention about "Savannah" is that it actually takes up three tracks on the album, which I had forgotten about. Not only does the song have a tag-track at the end of it, but it has a preamble to come before it. That's a pretty good chunk of the album there, so I guess, maybe "Savannah" is important (that was sarcasm)?
It's a calmer song than "Sahara," as I've mentioned before, but it has its moment of strong emotion. The emotions are different, too. Here, read the lyrics.
Oasis
(lyrics by Matthew Thiessen)
Savannah (repeated lots)
Savannah
(lyrics by Matthew Thiessen)
Savannah
I hope to be there by the morning
And see this pining all transforming
Into the arms of the Georgia sun.
Savannah
I'd love to feel the heat—the sunrise
Brushing rays across my windshield
As if one dries the streams from off my face
Yet I know you'll be there
'Cause you'll know I'll want you to be there
And we'll say hello
As you're smiling in love
And we'll sigh, so relieved
I believe because we will both know by tonight
We'll feel normal again
But until then
Savannah
Our backs supported by a hammock
We sum up perfection like a handbook
And God knows it all too well.
Savannah
We'll take a walk to find the gift shop
Who would have thought the book that you bought
Would never come off the shelf.
Yet I know you'll be there
'Cause you'll know I'll want you to be there
And we'll say hello
As I'm smiling in love
And we'll sigh, so relieved
I believe because we will both know by tonight
We'll feel normal again
But until then
Until then
Until then
Baby
I spent my life wondering
Wondering when I'd find you
I searched for all these years and now you're right here
I need you to know that
Everything makes sense when you're with me.
Savannah
Walk out into the sultry evening
Cotton breathing when the sea winds
Brush the hair down around your neck
Savannah
You hold my hand like it's the first time
And all the feelings that are hard to find
Will be just what we expect
Yet I know you'll be there
'Cause you'll know I'll want you to be there
And we'll say hello
As you're smiling in love
And we'll sigh, so relieved
I believe because we will both know by tonight
We'll feel normal again
But until then
Until then
Until then
Baby
(lyrics by Matthew Thiessen)
Baby
It's all that I can do to thank you
'Cause every time you wrapped those arms around me
I felt I was home 'cause
Everything made sense when you were with
Me
----
If there's a song on the album where Thiessen first forgets not to slow down, it's "Savannah," but even then the song strides forward on plucked strings (guitar and cello both). Musically it reminds me of Candlelight in the rhythms of the music. One of the aesthetic choices Thiessen makes in "Savannah" is to repeat the title at the head of (almost) every stanza aside from the choruses. The one exception is the stanza that begins with "baby," which is incidentally reprised in the same-titled afterthought. This repetition adds to the effect of pushing the music forward.
When this song begins, narrator-Thiessen seems to be going to meet his lover. This is an interesting choice for subject after a song about desertion and desolation. Thiessen's language throughout the song is lush with strong mental images (feeling the sunrise like a hand brushing tears from his face, personifying the sun, the perfection of relaxing in a hammock, etc.) that create a sort of aura of quiet joy—the joy after a great sadness, or maybe before it.
And in the chorus Thiessen repeats that he knows his love will meet him, and that things will be well, will be better again. Yet the chorus ends with "until then," and you can tell in the tone of Thiessen's voice and in the way the silence of the song plays out that "then" is never going to come.
In the second verse, lines like "God knows it all too well" and "who would have thought the book that you bought would never come off the shelf" remind us that something has ended between Thiessen and the one he's singing to. And still he insists that she will be there.
And then in the stanza begun by "baby" (but still in "Savannah") Thiessen makes it sound as if he's found the One, and that they're meant to be together, will be together. Even in the end, he says that "the feelings that are hard to find will be just what we expect."
So what does all of this mean? Well, let's look at "Baby," the tag-song to "Savannah." When this track starts, its with heavily distorted guitars, as opposed to the plucking cello of its parent song. Thiessen's voice is also filtered, and there's dripping sarcasm in his voice when he says, "It's all that I can do to thank you." Then, the distortion suddenly cuts away as he tells her, "Everything made sense when you were with me." You can hear the sadness of heartbreak in his voice for that line. "Baby" is a mockery of "Savannah," present because it's more honest than the pipe dream Thiessen presents in "Savannah." And though it mocks the sentiments in "Savannah," "Baby" is in some ways more honest, especially in that final moment, which reveals why Thiessen would choose to sing Savannah.
I'd like to think that this set of three tracks is a sort of microcosm for the whole album. The pre-track foreshadows what is coming ahead (as "Forget and Not Slow Down" and "I don't Need a Soul" do) literally, by repeating the title in almost whispered tones. The song itself is beautiful, but not entirely honest, though we catch glimpses of the truth inside. Then, as the set of three ends, more of Thiessen's bitterness and pain comes through, only to end with a profound sweetness and sadness.
What follows tomorrow is "If You Believe Me," a more energetic reflection on Thiessen's relationship, containing the sort of honesty that wasn't quite there before. But we'll talk about that tomorrow, when the time comes. For now, you should listen through the album so far.
Seriously, what other reason is there for me to do this big hairy analysis thing but to get people to listen to Forget and Not Slow Down a lot?
None. There is no other reason.
It's a calmer song than "Sahara," as I've mentioned before, but it has its moment of strong emotion. The emotions are different, too. Here, read the lyrics.
Oasis
(lyrics by Matthew Thiessen)
Savannah (repeated lots)
Savannah
(lyrics by Matthew Thiessen)
Savannah
I hope to be there by the morning
And see this pining all transforming
Into the arms of the Georgia sun.
Savannah
I'd love to feel the heat—the sunrise
Brushing rays across my windshield
As if one dries the streams from off my face
Yet I know you'll be there
'Cause you'll know I'll want you to be there
And we'll say hello
As you're smiling in love
And we'll sigh, so relieved
I believe because we will both know by tonight
We'll feel normal again
But until then
Savannah
Our backs supported by a hammock
We sum up perfection like a handbook
And God knows it all too well.
Savannah
We'll take a walk to find the gift shop
Who would have thought the book that you bought
Would never come off the shelf.
Yet I know you'll be there
'Cause you'll know I'll want you to be there
And we'll say hello
As I'm smiling in love
And we'll sigh, so relieved
I believe because we will both know by tonight
We'll feel normal again
But until then
Until then
Until then
Baby
I spent my life wondering
Wondering when I'd find you
I searched for all these years and now you're right here
I need you to know that
Everything makes sense when you're with me.
Savannah
Walk out into the sultry evening
Cotton breathing when the sea winds
Brush the hair down around your neck
Savannah
You hold my hand like it's the first time
And all the feelings that are hard to find
Will be just what we expect
Yet I know you'll be there
'Cause you'll know I'll want you to be there
And we'll say hello
As you're smiling in love
And we'll sigh, so relieved
I believe because we will both know by tonight
We'll feel normal again
But until then
Until then
Until then
Baby
(lyrics by Matthew Thiessen)
Baby
It's all that I can do to thank you
'Cause every time you wrapped those arms around me
I felt I was home 'cause
Everything made sense when you were with
Me
----
If there's a song on the album where Thiessen first forgets not to slow down, it's "Savannah," but even then the song strides forward on plucked strings (guitar and cello both). Musically it reminds me of Candlelight in the rhythms of the music. One of the aesthetic choices Thiessen makes in "Savannah" is to repeat the title at the head of (almost) every stanza aside from the choruses. The one exception is the stanza that begins with "baby," which is incidentally reprised in the same-titled afterthought. This repetition adds to the effect of pushing the music forward.
When this song begins, narrator-Thiessen seems to be going to meet his lover. This is an interesting choice for subject after a song about desertion and desolation. Thiessen's language throughout the song is lush with strong mental images (feeling the sunrise like a hand brushing tears from his face, personifying the sun, the perfection of relaxing in a hammock, etc.) that create a sort of aura of quiet joy—the joy after a great sadness, or maybe before it.
And in the chorus Thiessen repeats that he knows his love will meet him, and that things will be well, will be better again. Yet the chorus ends with "until then," and you can tell in the tone of Thiessen's voice and in the way the silence of the song plays out that "then" is never going to come.
In the second verse, lines like "God knows it all too well" and "who would have thought the book that you bought would never come off the shelf" remind us that something has ended between Thiessen and the one he's singing to. And still he insists that she will be there.
And then in the stanza begun by "baby" (but still in "Savannah") Thiessen makes it sound as if he's found the One, and that they're meant to be together, will be together. Even in the end, he says that "the feelings that are hard to find will be just what we expect."
So what does all of this mean? Well, let's look at "Baby," the tag-song to "Savannah." When this track starts, its with heavily distorted guitars, as opposed to the plucking cello of its parent song. Thiessen's voice is also filtered, and there's dripping sarcasm in his voice when he says, "It's all that I can do to thank you." Then, the distortion suddenly cuts away as he tells her, "Everything made sense when you were with me." You can hear the sadness of heartbreak in his voice for that line. "Baby" is a mockery of "Savannah," present because it's more honest than the pipe dream Thiessen presents in "Savannah." And though it mocks the sentiments in "Savannah," "Baby" is in some ways more honest, especially in that final moment, which reveals why Thiessen would choose to sing Savannah.
I'd like to think that this set of three tracks is a sort of microcosm for the whole album. The pre-track foreshadows what is coming ahead (as "Forget and Not Slow Down" and "I don't Need a Soul" do) literally, by repeating the title in almost whispered tones. The song itself is beautiful, but not entirely honest, though we catch glimpses of the truth inside. Then, as the set of three ends, more of Thiessen's bitterness and pain comes through, only to end with a profound sweetness and sadness.
What follows tomorrow is "If You Believe Me," a more energetic reflection on Thiessen's relationship, containing the sort of honesty that wasn't quite there before. But we'll talk about that tomorrow, when the time comes. For now, you should listen through the album so far.
Seriously, what other reason is there for me to do this big hairy analysis thing but to get people to listen to Forget and Not Slow Down a lot?
None. There is no other reason.
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Mohave
Things are gonna go a little differently today. I think, for the sake of it, I'm still gonna post the lyrics to "Sahara" in this blog post, but I'm also linking to the post back in May where I first talked about the song at length. It's right there, in that link that's all bolded and hopefully colored, so click on it to read what I've already said about Sahara. Again, my plan is to repeat myself as little as possible.
Somewhat tangentially, I've been listening to the corresponding song on repeat for the last several days while blogging about them. Which means that today I get to listen to "Sahara" over and over and over again. Excellence.
Read the lyrics. Catch you on the tail end.
Sahara
(lyrics by Matthew Thiessen)
Lying on my side knowing of thirst is how I'll die
Chalk on my tongue
Relying on the night
Beneath the dunes is where I lie to block the sun
Trying to ignite
Some sort of passion from inside to overcome
This feeling of desertion
Can't be worse than never having anyone
So I'll ask one thing
Just one thing
Of you
Don't ever turn me loose
Even when I turn my back
A lion on his side was it the lying
Or his pride which brought him down?
Once the king of beasts but
Now they feast on the thoughts beneath his vacant crown.
Trying to decide was it the lying
Or the pride which brought it down.
To be alone
To be dethroned
Believe me I know all about it now
So I'll ask one thing
Just one thing
Of you
Don't ever turn me loose
Even when I turn my back
I never told you then that I'd be easy to love
Supposedly I'm a man but I felt like a cub
I wandered into the plains further and farther away
Not ever knowing that I'd never come back the same
As my organs gave way I swear I felt something burst;
It's been thirteen days and now I'm dying of thirst
As for the birds of prey I pray that
Someone else will get here first
I am not alone
I'll be all right
Just take these bones
And breath them back to life
So I'll ask one thing
Just one thing
Of you
Don't ever turn me loose
So I'll ask one thing
Just one thing
Of you
Don't ever turn me loose (so I'll ask)
Don't ever turn me loose (one thing)
Don't ever turn me loose (one thing)
Even when I turn my back.
----
Right away we have that tone shift I mentioned a post or so ago. "Over It" is pretty darn chill, and then all the sudden Thiessen's gonna die of thirst, and it sounds like he's actually pretty ticked about it, you know? There's no song on the album that's as raw-voiced as "Sahara" is, that has so much bite and emotion colored on the rage end of the spectrum. Part of this is the back-up voices behind him. All the other voices in this song bring the energy too, and then there's the scoops. Much of the chorus has subtly sliding notes with a dissonant effect. This song ain't no pretty love ballad. There's also the riffing guitars and pounding drums to contend with. I've mentioned a few times how chill Thiessen has been till now.
Yeah, that doesn't apply to "Sahara."
You'll notice that even in this explosion of raw emotion Thiessen never directs ire at anyone in particular. The subject of conversation here is the sense of dying alone in the desert, and a powerfully human defiance of this sense. The first verse speaks of his knowledge of the coming end and the shelter he seeks from the sun, then it goes on to say that now he's "trying to ignite some sort of passion from inside to overcome this feeling of desertion." This is a radical shift from the forgetting he seems to have been going for until now, and I say its an admission that while "time can let the mind forget" there's still the emotions to be dealt with, and all the bravado in the world can't hide how much a broken heart hurts.
This is a song about a man in pain, and it doesn't pull any punches.
Forget and Not Slow Down needed this song, or I don't think Thiessen would have written it. Without "Sahara," I'm not sure the listener would realize what all the other songs were for. And it's only now, more than halfway through the album, that Thiessen drops this bomb on us. "Yeah guys, it hurts like hell. More specifically, it hurts like I'm dying of exposure in the Sahara desert." That's not literal quotes, but you get the idea.
Even so, Thiessen doesn't wallow. There's work to be done, even when you're drying up in a blasted wasteland. That's why he says "this feeling of desertion" he's fighting "can't be worse than never having anyone." He still believes love is worth it, despite how it feels right now. I have to point out, like I did the last time I talked about Sahara, that I love how he communicates his fight with "this feeling of desertion" and asserts his belief that it doesn't ruin the benefits of love without separating the clauses. I should also talk about the other possible meaning of "never having anyone" as not necessarily referring just to romantic relationships (as it does idiomatically) but also to the idea of spending life utterly alone, as opposed to having loved ones and losing them. Even now Thiessen's saying "things could still be worse."
And in the chorus, Thiessen makes an apology to God. He asks God not to "turn [him] loose," even when he admittedly sometimes "turn[s] his back." Thiessen knows himself well enough to know that he's not just a victim of desertion. He does it to God himself. So this song is layered again, as Thiessen knows firsthand now how desertion feels and so asks for forgiveness from the One he turns his back on.
The second verse, as I discuss briefly in my other post about "Sahara," introduces the metaphor of Thiessen as a lion. This metaphor is important for a couple reason. One, lions are close to the Sahara (geographically located on the same continent) and live on the Savannah, which is incidentally the title of the next song on the album. And another, the metaphor comes back again explicitly in the end game. We'll talk more about it there, but I wanted to point that out again so you have some foreshadowing (or maybe forewarning's a better word). Again, I talked in my previous post about how Thiessen distances himself a bit from his "lying" and "pride" by placing them in the lion metaphor. Incidentally, Thiessen also creates another metaphor for himself and his life, which turns the lion metaphor into a Narnian allusion, because he gives the lion a crown and a throne. This does make it kind of sound like Thiessen is giving himself delusions of godhood, which is a sort of issue I've wrestled with on this album for a while.
But I think I get it now, in light of the chorus of "Sahara." Now, Thiessen isn't saying that the Lion of Judah had lying or pride to bring Him down, but he is acknowledging both the imago dei and the desertion and desolation Christ suffered for our sins. Thiessen sees this a little more clearly than he had before this break-up which has discombobulated him, as he says "to be alone, to be dethroned believe me I know all about it now."
I've always taken the bridge's opening line "I never told you then that I'd be easy to love" as meant for Thiessen's ex, but the line also reminds me of one of his earlier songs, "Getting Into You," at one point in which Thiessen asks God if He knows what He's getting Himself into. Funny that I thought of that, because of the many parallels I could find between the chill "Over It" and more angry prior songs like "Which to Bury," and this frenetic song has a parallel in a gentle song of worship.
Thiessen extends his lion metaphor when he says he's supposed to have been a man but he felt like, not a child, but a cub. He then admits that he wandered astray and that the journey changed him irrevocably. He's dying, he's desolate, the scavengers are coming, but the bridge ends of a note of redemption.
"I am not alone," Thiessen says. He's not the only one who's desolate. He's not even abandoned in this desert like he feels like. The Listener is there, and the line "to be alone, to be dethroned, believe me I know all about it" could easily have come from His lips. Thiessen acknowledges this, and with this knowledge he knows he'll "be all right" so long as God "take[s] these bones and breathe[s] them back to life."
So he'll ask one thing of You. Don't turn him loose, even when he turns his back.
Don't let me go, Daddy please don't let me go. I'm sorry, don't let me go.
I think it's the child's pleading buried within the anguished rasping of a deserted man that make this song for me. Or any number of things. But that? Oh man.
I don't think there's really anything else I can say about that right now.
I think Thiessen wasn't really honest about the content of his "therapy." I think this song makes those car trips a little clearer to us. I think it's also good that Thiessen's told us he's "over it" already. We may be tempted not to believe him, but we know now that he's facing it down head on without slowing, just like he's been saying he wants to do all along.
"Savannah" is a bit slower paced compared to this one, and I've always viewed it as a breather to come down off the intensity of "Sahara." We'll talk about that and it's "afterthought" "Baby" tomorrow, and after that there will be two more posts for Forget and Not Slow Down.
I'm... not gonna think about that right now.
Catch ya later, folks.
Somewhat tangentially, I've been listening to the corresponding song on repeat for the last several days while blogging about them. Which means that today I get to listen to "Sahara" over and over and over again. Excellence.
Read the lyrics. Catch you on the tail end.
Sahara
(lyrics by Matthew Thiessen)
Lying on my side knowing of thirst is how I'll die
Chalk on my tongue
Relying on the night
Beneath the dunes is where I lie to block the sun
Trying to ignite
Some sort of passion from inside to overcome
This feeling of desertion
Can't be worse than never having anyone
So I'll ask one thing
Just one thing
Of you
Don't ever turn me loose
Even when I turn my back
A lion on his side was it the lying
Or his pride which brought him down?
Once the king of beasts but
Now they feast on the thoughts beneath his vacant crown.
Trying to decide was it the lying
Or the pride which brought it down.
To be alone
To be dethroned
Believe me I know all about it now
So I'll ask one thing
Just one thing
Of you
Don't ever turn me loose
Even when I turn my back
I never told you then that I'd be easy to love
Supposedly I'm a man but I felt like a cub
I wandered into the plains further and farther away
Not ever knowing that I'd never come back the same
As my organs gave way I swear I felt something burst;
It's been thirteen days and now I'm dying of thirst
As for the birds of prey I pray that
Someone else will get here first
I am not alone
I'll be all right
Just take these bones
And breath them back to life
So I'll ask one thing
Just one thing
Of you
Don't ever turn me loose
So I'll ask one thing
Just one thing
Of you
Don't ever turn me loose (so I'll ask)
Don't ever turn me loose (one thing)
Don't ever turn me loose (one thing)
Even when I turn my back.
----
Right away we have that tone shift I mentioned a post or so ago. "Over It" is pretty darn chill, and then all the sudden Thiessen's gonna die of thirst, and it sounds like he's actually pretty ticked about it, you know? There's no song on the album that's as raw-voiced as "Sahara" is, that has so much bite and emotion colored on the rage end of the spectrum. Part of this is the back-up voices behind him. All the other voices in this song bring the energy too, and then there's the scoops. Much of the chorus has subtly sliding notes with a dissonant effect. This song ain't no pretty love ballad. There's also the riffing guitars and pounding drums to contend with. I've mentioned a few times how chill Thiessen has been till now.
Yeah, that doesn't apply to "Sahara."
You'll notice that even in this explosion of raw emotion Thiessen never directs ire at anyone in particular. The subject of conversation here is the sense of dying alone in the desert, and a powerfully human defiance of this sense. The first verse speaks of his knowledge of the coming end and the shelter he seeks from the sun, then it goes on to say that now he's "trying to ignite some sort of passion from inside to overcome this feeling of desertion." This is a radical shift from the forgetting he seems to have been going for until now, and I say its an admission that while "time can let the mind forget" there's still the emotions to be dealt with, and all the bravado in the world can't hide how much a broken heart hurts.
This is a song about a man in pain, and it doesn't pull any punches.
Forget and Not Slow Down needed this song, or I don't think Thiessen would have written it. Without "Sahara," I'm not sure the listener would realize what all the other songs were for. And it's only now, more than halfway through the album, that Thiessen drops this bomb on us. "Yeah guys, it hurts like hell. More specifically, it hurts like I'm dying of exposure in the Sahara desert." That's not literal quotes, but you get the idea.
Even so, Thiessen doesn't wallow. There's work to be done, even when you're drying up in a blasted wasteland. That's why he says "this feeling of desertion" he's fighting "can't be worse than never having anyone." He still believes love is worth it, despite how it feels right now. I have to point out, like I did the last time I talked about Sahara, that I love how he communicates his fight with "this feeling of desertion" and asserts his belief that it doesn't ruin the benefits of love without separating the clauses. I should also talk about the other possible meaning of "never having anyone" as not necessarily referring just to romantic relationships (as it does idiomatically) but also to the idea of spending life utterly alone, as opposed to having loved ones and losing them. Even now Thiessen's saying "things could still be worse."
And in the chorus, Thiessen makes an apology to God. He asks God not to "turn [him] loose," even when he admittedly sometimes "turn[s] his back." Thiessen knows himself well enough to know that he's not just a victim of desertion. He does it to God himself. So this song is layered again, as Thiessen knows firsthand now how desertion feels and so asks for forgiveness from the One he turns his back on.
The second verse, as I discuss briefly in my other post about "Sahara," introduces the metaphor of Thiessen as a lion. This metaphor is important for a couple reason. One, lions are close to the Sahara (geographically located on the same continent) and live on the Savannah, which is incidentally the title of the next song on the album. And another, the metaphor comes back again explicitly in the end game. We'll talk more about it there, but I wanted to point that out again so you have some foreshadowing (or maybe forewarning's a better word). Again, I talked in my previous post about how Thiessen distances himself a bit from his "lying" and "pride" by placing them in the lion metaphor. Incidentally, Thiessen also creates another metaphor for himself and his life, which turns the lion metaphor into a Narnian allusion, because he gives the lion a crown and a throne. This does make it kind of sound like Thiessen is giving himself delusions of godhood, which is a sort of issue I've wrestled with on this album for a while.
But I think I get it now, in light of the chorus of "Sahara." Now, Thiessen isn't saying that the Lion of Judah had lying or pride to bring Him down, but he is acknowledging both the imago dei and the desertion and desolation Christ suffered for our sins. Thiessen sees this a little more clearly than he had before this break-up which has discombobulated him, as he says "to be alone, to be dethroned believe me I know all about it now."
I've always taken the bridge's opening line "I never told you then that I'd be easy to love" as meant for Thiessen's ex, but the line also reminds me of one of his earlier songs, "Getting Into You," at one point in which Thiessen asks God if He knows what He's getting Himself into. Funny that I thought of that, because of the many parallels I could find between the chill "Over It" and more angry prior songs like "Which to Bury," and this frenetic song has a parallel in a gentle song of worship.
Thiessen extends his lion metaphor when he says he's supposed to have been a man but he felt like, not a child, but a cub. He then admits that he wandered astray and that the journey changed him irrevocably. He's dying, he's desolate, the scavengers are coming, but the bridge ends of a note of redemption.
"I am not alone," Thiessen says. He's not the only one who's desolate. He's not even abandoned in this desert like he feels like. The Listener is there, and the line "to be alone, to be dethroned, believe me I know all about it" could easily have come from His lips. Thiessen acknowledges this, and with this knowledge he knows he'll "be all right" so long as God "take[s] these bones and breathe[s] them back to life."
So he'll ask one thing of You. Don't turn him loose, even when he turns his back.
Don't let me go, Daddy please don't let me go. I'm sorry, don't let me go.
I think it's the child's pleading buried within the anguished rasping of a deserted man that make this song for me. Or any number of things. But that? Oh man.
I don't think there's really anything else I can say about that right now.
I think Thiessen wasn't really honest about the content of his "therapy." I think this song makes those car trips a little clearer to us. I think it's also good that Thiessen's told us he's "over it" already. We may be tempted not to believe him, but we know now that he's facing it down head on without slowing, just like he's been saying he wants to do all along.
"Savannah" is a bit slower paced compared to this one, and I've always viewed it as a breather to come down off the intensity of "Sahara." We'll talk about that and it's "afterthought" "Baby" tomorrow, and after that there will be two more posts for Forget and Not Slow Down.
I'm... not gonna think about that right now.
Catch ya later, folks.
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
Risen Above
Over It
(lyrics by Matthew Thiessen)
I'll admit to who I am
The day I come to understand
I haven't got a clue
Been searching for a few years now
If I don't repeat myself
Then I'll change into someone else
Well I don't quite know who
Been searching for a few years
Now I'm over it
Yeah behind me now I'm just over it
Over it
Yeah I'm finding out I'm just over it
No I don't know what's over just yet
But I won't go slow
And time can let the mind forget
Don't tell me you don't know
Already
I'll protect your universe
Or make a mess to make it worse
Well time will only tell
You and no one else so
I'm over it
Yeah behind me now I'm just over it
Over it
Yeah I'm finding out I'm just over it
No I don't know what's over just yet
But I won't go slow
And time can let the mind forget
Don't tell me you don't know
Already
Don't tell me you let go
Oh
You say you made up your mind and you finally decided
But those that helped you choose
Haven't the slightest clue as to
The magnitude of what you're about to lose
I'm guarded and therefore I can endure
A little bit more
Just a little more
Than some people would
If I'm not misunderstood
It's still an attempt to be egoless while self-assured
If I'm still unsure that I'm pretty sure
That I am pretty good
Oh God you know I'm good and
Over it
Yeah behind me now I'm just over it
Over it
Yeah I'm finding out I'm just over it
No I don't know what's over just yet
But I won't go slow
And time can let the mind forget
Don't tell me you don't know
Already
Don't tell me you let go
Already
Don't tell me you don't know
(Already)
Don't tell me you don't know
(Don't tell me you don't know)
(the sound of a door opening and closing)
----
In case you never listened to a single Relient K song before you started reading my analysis of Forget and Not Slow Down, there's a strong theme of self-discovery in Thiessen's songwriting. Even the very first Relient K album had songs like "Balloon Ride," in which Thiessen metaphorically takes a ride in a balloon from which "everything seems clear." His search for new/fresh perspectives, which coincides with his walk with the Lord, has been present from the very first, and he's telling us at the start of "Over It" that he's still not done learning new things about himself. I commiserate with this, because all my life I've been making observations about my own behavior in an attempt to understand myself, and to guide my own behavior towards something a bit more conscionable.
This explanation is further complicated, because as Thiessen reveals people change or they stagnate. It's why he's still searching for who he is—and incidentally who he'll become—and the need not to stagnate is why he continues to change. The line from "Therapy" about having a death grip on transitioning life should be read with this concept in mind.
But now, Thiessen says, he's over it. He's over searching for himself? Maybe, but as the chorus develops he admits he doesn't really "know what's over." Not yet at least. Either way, he's determined not to slow down, and retreads the idea that maybe he can ignore the problem and let time heal all wounds by making him forget. This seems to contradict the therapy he was getting in the previous song. Maybe this is a bit of arrogance coming through, or maybe it's a resurgence of the sort of apathy Thiessen sang about in his song "Apathetic Way to Be," which is more about not making a big deal about things he can't change to much. Either way, he seems to think he's over it.
Then there's what may well be the central line of the song, "Don't tell me you don't know already." Don't know what? Well, I think that's the main point. This could be a prod at the audience to pay attention, or a lament that his ex-love is forgetting him quickly. It's also interestingly placed right after the line about time letting the mind forget. But have you forgotten already? The way Thiessen sings this line, with melancholy and disappointment, makes it necessary to tie at least part of the meaning to that line about forgetting. There's evidence here, then, that Thiessen is conflicted about this idea of just forgetting. He doesn't want it forgotten just yet, like it never happened at all. This is important, because it explains some of the connection between "Over It" and "Sahara." As chill as this song is musically, I think the emotional core of it is a little more turbulent than narrator-Thiessen wants to let on.
Thiessen dwells a bit on his own part in the break-up in the second verse, admitting that while he could "protect [her] universe" he could also "make a mess to make it worse." But apparently only she can know, so Thiessen lets it go and gets "over it."
There's a line added to the chorus that follows after the verse, with Thiessen pleading not to be told "you['ve]" let go. Later, "already" is added to this line too. This line can probably be read as meant for the lady, but it's of note because it has the same inner conflict that its companion line has.
The bridge is reminiscent of an earlier Relient K song called "Which to Bury, Us or the Hatchet?" which I've mentioned before. There's a strong parallel between the lines about the subject making up her mind and having others help her "choose" who don't really understand, and the lines in "Which to Bury" that go "Make your decision and don't think twice/go with your instincts along with some bad advice." I'll point out again how much differently Thiessen seems to be handling his emotions now as opposed to then.
I've just noticed a stronger parallel, right about as old as the theme of self-searching. You see, in the premier Relient K album there's a song called "Marilyn Manson Ate My Girlfriend," in which Thiessen's ex is lured away by an outside voice who Thiessen views as deceptive. In Anatomy of the Tongue in Cheek there's a song, "What Have You Been Doing Lately," about friends slipping away from the narrow road. Yet, Thiessen's distress has been tempered by experience, so that by now, in "Over It," he sounds completely level-headed when he says she's losing out on something huge because she listened to someone else. There's a foreshadowing here towards the penultimate song on the album (counting the last two tracks as one song), "If You Believe Me," as well as a harking back to "Therapy," where God's the only one still listening to Thiessen. It might have something to do with Thiessen's sardonic streak, which he anguishes over, especially in songs like "Bite My Tongue" from Five Score and Seven Years Ago and a little in "Curl Up and Die" from the Nashville Tennis EP.
It's this sort of interconnectedness to Thiessen's music that fascinates me, especially since that aspect ramped up so much in Forget and Not Slow Down. It's ironic to have all these allusions that require the listener to pay attention and remember what's gone before in an album named after trying to forget.
Maybe, just maybe, the sort of forgetting Thiessen's getting at is not the kind you usually think of when you think about forgetting. Don't tell me you hadn't picked up on that, yet. "Don't tell me you don't know already."
Wow, I've talked a lot, but there's still more to talk about. We've got the next section, and the very end. Just bear with me guys.
Thiessen tells us he keeps his guard up pretty much always, which is why he seems pretty chill about things, but he tries to keep this from sounding like bragging by minimizing it ("just a little bit more") and by pointing out that he's trying "to be egoless while self-assured." Even so, he's not so sure of himself, but he thinks he's good, or at least he's "over it."
And with all the points he's been making and everything I've been pointing out, I'm pretty sure if you want to say "What, exactly, is he over?" that Thiessen would respond with a resounding, "Yeah."
The song ends with Thiessen echoing his incredulous, "Don't tell me you don't know" until the music fades, and we hear a door open and close as if someone is leaving (or coming in). I have to admit that until today I thought the entry/exit sound came at the very start of "Sahara" and not at the end of "Over It." Either way, the sound is a significant transition between the two. It sounds to me like desolation, which is what Thiessen is trying to hide in today's song and what he admits to in spectacular fashion in the next. It also reminds me of another significant Relient K song on a different album: "Deathbed," a song-story about a man dying of lung cancer, which begins with the sound of someone opening a door and sitting down. That particular sound image is interesting in retrospect because the narrator of "Deathbed" insists he is dying alone, but that sound suggests otherwise.
I hark back now once again to "Therapy," and God as the Listener.
With that thought, get ready for tomorrow. I'm going to try to have even more interesting things to say about "Sahara" tomorrow than I did the first time, if I can help it. For now, though, have a blessed day.
Ciao.
(lyrics by Matthew Thiessen)
I'll admit to who I am
The day I come to understand
I haven't got a clue
Been searching for a few years now
If I don't repeat myself
Then I'll change into someone else
Well I don't quite know who
Been searching for a few years
Now I'm over it
Yeah behind me now I'm just over it
Over it
Yeah I'm finding out I'm just over it
No I don't know what's over just yet
But I won't go slow
And time can let the mind forget
Don't tell me you don't know
Already
I'll protect your universe
Or make a mess to make it worse
Well time will only tell
You and no one else so
I'm over it
Yeah behind me now I'm just over it
Over it
Yeah I'm finding out I'm just over it
No I don't know what's over just yet
But I won't go slow
And time can let the mind forget
Don't tell me you don't know
Already
Don't tell me you let go
Oh
You say you made up your mind and you finally decided
But those that helped you choose
Haven't the slightest clue as to
The magnitude of what you're about to lose
I'm guarded and therefore I can endure
A little bit more
Just a little more
Than some people would
If I'm not misunderstood
It's still an attempt to be egoless while self-assured
If I'm still unsure that I'm pretty sure
That I am pretty good
Oh God you know I'm good and
Over it
Yeah behind me now I'm just over it
Over it
Yeah I'm finding out I'm just over it
No I don't know what's over just yet
But I won't go slow
And time can let the mind forget
Don't tell me you don't know
Already
Don't tell me you let go
Already
Don't tell me you don't know
(Already)
Don't tell me you don't know
(Don't tell me you don't know)
(the sound of a door opening and closing)
----
In case you never listened to a single Relient K song before you started reading my analysis of Forget and Not Slow Down, there's a strong theme of self-discovery in Thiessen's songwriting. Even the very first Relient K album had songs like "Balloon Ride," in which Thiessen metaphorically takes a ride in a balloon from which "everything seems clear." His search for new/fresh perspectives, which coincides with his walk with the Lord, has been present from the very first, and he's telling us at the start of "Over It" that he's still not done learning new things about himself. I commiserate with this, because all my life I've been making observations about my own behavior in an attempt to understand myself, and to guide my own behavior towards something a bit more conscionable.
This explanation is further complicated, because as Thiessen reveals people change or they stagnate. It's why he's still searching for who he is—and incidentally who he'll become—and the need not to stagnate is why he continues to change. The line from "Therapy" about having a death grip on transitioning life should be read with this concept in mind.
But now, Thiessen says, he's over it. He's over searching for himself? Maybe, but as the chorus develops he admits he doesn't really "know what's over." Not yet at least. Either way, he's determined not to slow down, and retreads the idea that maybe he can ignore the problem and let time heal all wounds by making him forget. This seems to contradict the therapy he was getting in the previous song. Maybe this is a bit of arrogance coming through, or maybe it's a resurgence of the sort of apathy Thiessen sang about in his song "Apathetic Way to Be," which is more about not making a big deal about things he can't change to much. Either way, he seems to think he's over it.
Then there's what may well be the central line of the song, "Don't tell me you don't know already." Don't know what? Well, I think that's the main point. This could be a prod at the audience to pay attention, or a lament that his ex-love is forgetting him quickly. It's also interestingly placed right after the line about time letting the mind forget. But have you forgotten already? The way Thiessen sings this line, with melancholy and disappointment, makes it necessary to tie at least part of the meaning to that line about forgetting. There's evidence here, then, that Thiessen is conflicted about this idea of just forgetting. He doesn't want it forgotten just yet, like it never happened at all. This is important, because it explains some of the connection between "Over It" and "Sahara." As chill as this song is musically, I think the emotional core of it is a little more turbulent than narrator-Thiessen wants to let on.
Thiessen dwells a bit on his own part in the break-up in the second verse, admitting that while he could "protect [her] universe" he could also "make a mess to make it worse." But apparently only she can know, so Thiessen lets it go and gets "over it."
There's a line added to the chorus that follows after the verse, with Thiessen pleading not to be told "you['ve]" let go. Later, "already" is added to this line too. This line can probably be read as meant for the lady, but it's of note because it has the same inner conflict that its companion line has.
The bridge is reminiscent of an earlier Relient K song called "Which to Bury, Us or the Hatchet?" which I've mentioned before. There's a strong parallel between the lines about the subject making up her mind and having others help her "choose" who don't really understand, and the lines in "Which to Bury" that go "Make your decision and don't think twice/go with your instincts along with some bad advice." I'll point out again how much differently Thiessen seems to be handling his emotions now as opposed to then.
I've just noticed a stronger parallel, right about as old as the theme of self-searching. You see, in the premier Relient K album there's a song called "Marilyn Manson Ate My Girlfriend," in which Thiessen's ex is lured away by an outside voice who Thiessen views as deceptive. In Anatomy of the Tongue in Cheek there's a song, "What Have You Been Doing Lately," about friends slipping away from the narrow road. Yet, Thiessen's distress has been tempered by experience, so that by now, in "Over It," he sounds completely level-headed when he says she's losing out on something huge because she listened to someone else. There's a foreshadowing here towards the penultimate song on the album (counting the last two tracks as one song), "If You Believe Me," as well as a harking back to "Therapy," where God's the only one still listening to Thiessen. It might have something to do with Thiessen's sardonic streak, which he anguishes over, especially in songs like "Bite My Tongue" from Five Score and Seven Years Ago and a little in "Curl Up and Die" from the Nashville Tennis EP.
It's this sort of interconnectedness to Thiessen's music that fascinates me, especially since that aspect ramped up so much in Forget and Not Slow Down. It's ironic to have all these allusions that require the listener to pay attention and remember what's gone before in an album named after trying to forget.
Maybe, just maybe, the sort of forgetting Thiessen's getting at is not the kind you usually think of when you think about forgetting. Don't tell me you hadn't picked up on that, yet. "Don't tell me you don't know already."
Wow, I've talked a lot, but there's still more to talk about. We've got the next section, and the very end. Just bear with me guys.
Thiessen tells us he keeps his guard up pretty much always, which is why he seems pretty chill about things, but he tries to keep this from sounding like bragging by minimizing it ("just a little bit more") and by pointing out that he's trying "to be egoless while self-assured." Even so, he's not so sure of himself, but he thinks he's good, or at least he's "over it."
And with all the points he's been making and everything I've been pointing out, I'm pretty sure if you want to say "What, exactly, is he over?" that Thiessen would respond with a resounding, "Yeah."
The song ends with Thiessen echoing his incredulous, "Don't tell me you don't know" until the music fades, and we hear a door open and close as if someone is leaving (or coming in). I have to admit that until today I thought the entry/exit sound came at the very start of "Sahara" and not at the end of "Over It." Either way, the sound is a significant transition between the two. It sounds to me like desolation, which is what Thiessen is trying to hide in today's song and what he admits to in spectacular fashion in the next. It also reminds me of another significant Relient K song on a different album: "Deathbed," a song-story about a man dying of lung cancer, which begins with the sound of someone opening a door and sitting down. That particular sound image is interesting in retrospect because the narrator of "Deathbed" insists he is dying alone, but that sound suggests otherwise.
I hark back now once again to "Therapy," and God as the Listener.
With that thought, get ready for tomorrow. I'm going to try to have even more interesting things to say about "Sahara" tomorrow than I did the first time, if I can help it. For now, though, have a blessed day.
Ciao.
Monday, July 16, 2012
Convalescence
I'll just sort of...
put this...
Therapy
(lyrics by Matthew Thiessen)
I never thought I'd be
Driving through the country just to drive
With only music and the clothes that I woke up in
I never thought I'd need
All this time alone it goes to show
I had so much, yet I had need for nothing but you
But you
This is just therapy
Let's call it what it is
With a death grip on this life always transitioning
This is just therapy
'Cause you won't take my calls
And that makes God the only one who's left here listening
To me
I'm letting it all sink in
It's good to feel the sting now and again
Hope is one less woeful thing there is to fight through
Getting it I'll begin
Fresh paper and a nice expensive pen
The past cannot subtract a thing from what I might do for you
Unless that's what I let it do
This is just therapy
Let's call it what it is (not what we were)
With a death grip on this life always transitioning
This is just therapy
'Cause you won't take my calls
And that makes God the only one who's left here listening...
Loneliness and solitude are two things not to get confused
because I spend my solitude with You.
I gather all the questions of the things I just can't get straight
And I answer them the way I guess You do.
'Cause this is my therapy
'Cause You're the only one
Who's listening to me
This is my therapy
Let's call it what it is
Not what we were
With a death grip on
This life that's in transition
This is my therapy
'Cause you won't hear me out
And that makes God the only one who's left here listening
This is my therapy
Let's call it what it is (not what we were)
With a death grip on this life always transitioning
This is my therapy
'Cause you won't take my calls
And that makes God the only one who's left here listening
To me
----
If I said that "Part of It" had Thiessen opening up about his feelings, then that goes at least as much as "Therapy." This song is the most open yet about his emotional state (he needs "therapy") and his walk with the Lord. Probably my favorite line in this song is the one about loneliness and solitude.
I will be quick to point out the return of the travel motif. Driving "just to drive," as it were. I also want to preliminarily mention the irony of the final line in the chorus, "That makes God the only one who's left here listening to me." Considering he's singing this song to an audience of thousands. This line, if anything, strengthens my argument that this album is a prayer, albeit one that Thiessen shares with his listeners through an album published by the band he fronts. And in my mind that makes this album a testimony. Better, a testimony that avoids heavy-handedness and drips with honesty.
The first verse reveals to us that, at least in the semantic space of this song, Thiessen never expected to be spending his time driving for the sake of it, or to be isolating himself. It seems to me that the further we get in the album, up to a point, the closer Thiessen's voice (poetically speaking) gets to the event that sparked the work. My other comment about this verse is the wordplay of ambiguous meaning for the pronoun "you." He could have needed nothing but her, or he could need nothing but Him, and probably he's referring to both.
The chorus is certainly an interesting beast. Like most good choruses I encounter, it doesn't stay rigid throughout the song. For example, the behavior Thiessen refers to in the first verse shifts from "just" therapy to "my" therapy. He owns it as time moves forward, and he admits he really needs it. This highlights the reason he's "call[ing] it what it is," because he doesn't necessarily want to need help. Like he said at the start, he'd rather just "forget and not slow down." The word "therapy" also implies he feels like it's helping.
There's an echo that happens in the chorus. "Not what we were." The first instance is another singer entirely, a quiet parenthetical aside (which I have presented as such in the lyrics). But in a slower version of the chorus, Thiessen himself sings the words. After that, it's an echo again, but louder, and more sure of itself. The statement itself is of interest, as it refers to "calling it what it is," the titular therapy of the song. But in typical Thiessen wordplay fashion, the meaning of calling it what it is doesn't stay exactly the same between lines. "What we were" was a relationship aimed at marriage—a parallel strongly invoked in the Christian concepts of the Bride and the Bridegroom. But Thiessen is clearly saying this isn't the way he's communing with his Father in this context. It's in the context of the Great Physician.
Yet another portion of the chorus is ripe for discussion. I think Thiessen hits the nail on the head by saying that life is "always transitioning," and I think he's right to take a death grip. Don't mistake this for meaning Thiessen is holding on too tightly—remember forgetting and not slowing down—but rather that the death grip is just to stay alive in a world that's always changing around you. I've had a few conversations in the last couple days about how life is always a transition from one state to another. Right now I'm in a pretty weird place and trying to figure out how to transition to the next state—and out of the house. If you let go in a time like this, you can lose yourself. My grip slips sometimes, and I lose a few days or a week to the sort of apathy that reflects idiomatic sofa vegetables.
There's not too much to say about how Thiessen's female "you" won't take his calls. It's part of a semantic piece of the puzzle, and obviously part of why he's driving just to drive, with music and God to keep him company. It comes to the heart of his difficulty: she has parted from him.
The bridge, which I've already referred to, details more specifically the sort of emotional work Thiessen is doing. Out on the road alone, he wrestles with his questions and presents them all to God, playing the sort of guesswork game that comes with the faith. Again, it's really honest. Thiessen's walk with God isn't a series of questions and answers, or of deals made and bargains kept. God in "Therapy" is almost the Great Psychiatrist, listening to His son talk about his experiences, and guiding him rather than giving direct instruction.
I've said that Thiessen "seems to think the therapy is working." I put that in quotes because by that I mean the narrative voice of Thiessen telling us this emotional story thinks, during "Therapy," that it's working. And he seems to continue to think so, because the next song on the album is called "Over It." Tomorrow we'll talk about how that title might be a little deceiving, and how the narrator-Thiessen may be deceiving himself at this point in the album.
As a final note, I'd like to point out that even now the music is bright and moves forward at a brisk pace, and so does the inflection in Thiessen's voice. Yes, he's hurting, but he's still not slowing down. I point this out because we'll see whether he sticks to this or not as we move into the last half of the album, as indeed we are doing. "Therapy" and "Over It" form the track-number center of the album, sandwiched between "Part of It" (and "Outro") and "Sahara" on the other side. There's a radical shift in tone coming up.
Listen to "Therapy." In fact, I'd suggest you listen to everything up to Therapy around now, if not the whole album. I don't really want to encourage maintaining suspense moving forward, because the album is really much better as a whole, but if you've never heard the whole thing and you want to hold out, I guess you can do that.
This was one of those days where stuff happened and visitors appeared, thus the later posting than most of these recent blogs have been. I'll make no apologies. Another reason for the delay was a need to chew on this song a bit. I always feel the need to chew on it, maybe more than any of the other songs on the album.
Get some good sleep, peeps. Ciao.
put this...
Therapy
(lyrics by Matthew Thiessen)
I never thought I'd be
Driving through the country just to drive
With only music and the clothes that I woke up in
I never thought I'd need
All this time alone it goes to show
I had so much, yet I had need for nothing but you
But you
This is just therapy
Let's call it what it is
With a death grip on this life always transitioning
This is just therapy
'Cause you won't take my calls
And that makes God the only one who's left here listening
To me
I'm letting it all sink in
It's good to feel the sting now and again
Hope is one less woeful thing there is to fight through
Getting it I'll begin
Fresh paper and a nice expensive pen
The past cannot subtract a thing from what I might do for you
Unless that's what I let it do
This is just therapy
Let's call it what it is (not what we were)
With a death grip on this life always transitioning
This is just therapy
'Cause you won't take my calls
And that makes God the only one who's left here listening...
Loneliness and solitude are two things not to get confused
because I spend my solitude with You.
I gather all the questions of the things I just can't get straight
And I answer them the way I guess You do.
'Cause this is my therapy
'Cause You're the only one
Who's listening to me
This is my therapy
Let's call it what it is
Not what we were
With a death grip on
This life that's in transition
This is my therapy
'Cause you won't hear me out
And that makes God the only one who's left here listening
This is my therapy
Let's call it what it is (not what we were)
With a death grip on this life always transitioning
This is my therapy
'Cause you won't take my calls
And that makes God the only one who's left here listening
To me
----
If I said that "Part of It" had Thiessen opening up about his feelings, then that goes at least as much as "Therapy." This song is the most open yet about his emotional state (he needs "therapy") and his walk with the Lord. Probably my favorite line in this song is the one about loneliness and solitude.
I will be quick to point out the return of the travel motif. Driving "just to drive," as it were. I also want to preliminarily mention the irony of the final line in the chorus, "That makes God the only one who's left here listening to me." Considering he's singing this song to an audience of thousands. This line, if anything, strengthens my argument that this album is a prayer, albeit one that Thiessen shares with his listeners through an album published by the band he fronts. And in my mind that makes this album a testimony. Better, a testimony that avoids heavy-handedness and drips with honesty.
The first verse reveals to us that, at least in the semantic space of this song, Thiessen never expected to be spending his time driving for the sake of it, or to be isolating himself. It seems to me that the further we get in the album, up to a point, the closer Thiessen's voice (poetically speaking) gets to the event that sparked the work. My other comment about this verse is the wordplay of ambiguous meaning for the pronoun "you." He could have needed nothing but her, or he could need nothing but Him, and probably he's referring to both.
The chorus is certainly an interesting beast. Like most good choruses I encounter, it doesn't stay rigid throughout the song. For example, the behavior Thiessen refers to in the first verse shifts from "just" therapy to "my" therapy. He owns it as time moves forward, and he admits he really needs it. This highlights the reason he's "call[ing] it what it is," because he doesn't necessarily want to need help. Like he said at the start, he'd rather just "forget and not slow down." The word "therapy" also implies he feels like it's helping.
There's an echo that happens in the chorus. "Not what we were." The first instance is another singer entirely, a quiet parenthetical aside (which I have presented as such in the lyrics). But in a slower version of the chorus, Thiessen himself sings the words. After that, it's an echo again, but louder, and more sure of itself. The statement itself is of interest, as it refers to "calling it what it is," the titular therapy of the song. But in typical Thiessen wordplay fashion, the meaning of calling it what it is doesn't stay exactly the same between lines. "What we were" was a relationship aimed at marriage—a parallel strongly invoked in the Christian concepts of the Bride and the Bridegroom. But Thiessen is clearly saying this isn't the way he's communing with his Father in this context. It's in the context of the Great Physician.
Yet another portion of the chorus is ripe for discussion. I think Thiessen hits the nail on the head by saying that life is "always transitioning," and I think he's right to take a death grip. Don't mistake this for meaning Thiessen is holding on too tightly—remember forgetting and not slowing down—but rather that the death grip is just to stay alive in a world that's always changing around you. I've had a few conversations in the last couple days about how life is always a transition from one state to another. Right now I'm in a pretty weird place and trying to figure out how to transition to the next state—and out of the house. If you let go in a time like this, you can lose yourself. My grip slips sometimes, and I lose a few days or a week to the sort of apathy that reflects idiomatic sofa vegetables.
There's not too much to say about how Thiessen's female "you" won't take his calls. It's part of a semantic piece of the puzzle, and obviously part of why he's driving just to drive, with music and God to keep him company. It comes to the heart of his difficulty: she has parted from him.
The bridge, which I've already referred to, details more specifically the sort of emotional work Thiessen is doing. Out on the road alone, he wrestles with his questions and presents them all to God, playing the sort of guesswork game that comes with the faith. Again, it's really honest. Thiessen's walk with God isn't a series of questions and answers, or of deals made and bargains kept. God in "Therapy" is almost the Great Psychiatrist, listening to His son talk about his experiences, and guiding him rather than giving direct instruction.
I've said that Thiessen "seems to think the therapy is working." I put that in quotes because by that I mean the narrative voice of Thiessen telling us this emotional story thinks, during "Therapy," that it's working. And he seems to continue to think so, because the next song on the album is called "Over It." Tomorrow we'll talk about how that title might be a little deceiving, and how the narrator-Thiessen may be deceiving himself at this point in the album.
As a final note, I'd like to point out that even now the music is bright and moves forward at a brisk pace, and so does the inflection in Thiessen's voice. Yes, he's hurting, but he's still not slowing down. I point this out because we'll see whether he sticks to this or not as we move into the last half of the album, as indeed we are doing. "Therapy" and "Over It" form the track-number center of the album, sandwiched between "Part of It" (and "Outro") and "Sahara" on the other side. There's a radical shift in tone coming up.
Listen to "Therapy." In fact, I'd suggest you listen to everything up to Therapy around now, if not the whole album. I don't really want to encourage maintaining suspense moving forward, because the album is really much better as a whole, but if you've never heard the whole thing and you want to hold out, I guess you can do that.
This was one of those days where stuff happened and visitors appeared, thus the later posting than most of these recent blogs have been. I'll make no apologies. Another reason for the delay was a need to chew on this song a bit. I always feel the need to chew on it, maybe more than any of the other songs on the album.
Get some good sleep, peeps. Ciao.
Sunday, July 15, 2012
A Portion of the Whole (And Some Thoughts on Church and My Walk)
I like church. It's like a battery recharge, or a realignment, or time spent with a good friend. You feel edified. It's also exhausting, with all those people there, and me re-examining how I've been living my life since the last time I entered a reverent place of worship. It sounds an awful lot like I've been doing my Christianity wrong, with that tendency to live a week and then be a Christian on Sundays, but I'm really...
Actually, I'm doing it wrong. Not terribly wrong. I'm not putting words in God's mouth and persecuting His children for the sake of my own perverted version of justice. At least not consciously, or on a daily basis. If I do do that, I want you to tell me right away. If I'm a good man I'll shut up and walk away to pick myself apart in privacy. But yeah, like most people, I'm actually kind of good. But that makes my flaws all that much more terrible, and when I'm aware of that I pursue my Savior simply because He fixes like no one else.
I've mentioned before that I hate mistakes. The worst mistakes in my eyes are the ones that can't be fixed—that can't, in some way, be undone. I'm talking about mistakes you can't apologize for, that leave something broken and you powerless to make it better.
I follow Christ because there is no brokenness He cannot mend.
We've come to a sort of crossroads in our walk through Forget and Not Slow Down. "Part of It" is central to the album, both because it begins the middle of the emotional narrative and because of how it fills this space. Like "Candlelight" before it, this song has an afterthought (by the name of "Outro") which echoes the thrust of the song in moving forward through the album.
The most important aspect of this song from an album-wide perspective is that this is where Thiessen's "forget and not slow down" enamel cracks and we get a clearer glimpse of his condition. Pay close attention to what he says in this song:
Part of It
(lyrics by Matthew Thiessen)
I've been working with adhesives:
Chains and locks and ropes with knots to tether,
But nothing's sticking to the pieces—
I can't seem to hold it all together.
But you should know
Because that explains
Why this all just fell apart.
It's not the end of the world
Just you and me
We're a part of it—everyone
We're a part of it—everything
And if a nightmare ever does unfold
Perspective is a lovely hand to hold.
Well I've been trying to ingest this
But everything to me just seems like nonsense,
And I'm not sure if I can get it.
I guess it's time for me to grow a conscience
To combat the lapse
That explains why all of this simply collapsed.
It's not the end of the world
Just you and me
We're a part of it—everyone
We're a part of it—everything
And if a nightmare ever does unfold
Perspective is a lovely hand to hold.
It's been forever since I've gone
But I'm the Cusack on the lawn
Of your heart.
May be forever till I go
But before then you should know
I could tear that place apart
I could tear that place apart
I swear this to you
I wish that this was not the truth
But it's something that you fell into
And crawling out is hard when you
Are not so sure it's what you wanna do—
Not convinced it's what you wanna do.
It's just the weight of the world
Giving out under the string
We're a part of it—everyone
We're a part of it—everything
And when a nightmare finally does unfold—
A nightmare finally shows—
It's not the end of the world
Just a calamity
We're a part of it everyone
We're a part of it everything
And when a nightmare finally does unfold
Perspective is a lovely hand to hold.
Outro
(lyrics by Matthew Thiessen)
I swear this to you
I wish that this was not the truth
But it's something that you fell into
And crawling out is hard when you
Are not so sure it's what you wanna do
I swear this to you
(When a nightmare finally does unfold)
I wish that this was not the truth
(Perspective is a lovely hand to hold)
But it's something that you fell into
(Perspective is a lovely hand to hold)
This choice is hard to make when you
Are not convinced it's what you wanna do.
When a nightmare finally does unfold
Perspective is a lovely hand to hold.
----
First of all, Thiessen's word picture in this first verse is awesome. "Adhesives" obviously not restricted to glue, and all this because he's trying to hold together what he and She both know has already fallen apart. I'm also a big fan of the guitar work and the reflective tone Thiessen starts with that escalates quickly into the complex emotions presented in the chorus.
"It's not the end of the world, just you and me" puts it pretty darn well. "It" being Thiessen's continued insistence that life goes on, even as he admits he's a bit worse off than he first let on. It's not the end of the world, just a nightmare, just the weight of the world giving out, just a calamity. Not the worst thing, but it's bad. Yet the chorus ends with the poignant statement "perspective is a lovely hand to hold," which is exactly what Thiessen's trying to achieve so that he can rise above the raw emotional core. That seems to be the whole purpose of this album aside of a work of art. He can't forget the hurt, the unseating, until he puts it all in a proper perspective. And he's loosening a bit at the seams here.
He admits that he's trying to get a handle on things, but it's not settling in his stomach well and he's got some growing to do. Maybe that statement was a little too esoteric, but it's all there in the second verse, man.
Need more proof about Thiessen loosening at the seams? Check out the bridge. He's hanging around, making [some sort of movie reference involving John Cusack that almost entirely escapes me], and he might be around even longer. More importantly, before he leaves, you should know (and repetition helps you not forget) he "could tear that place apart." Nah man, he's not upset.
Another note about the bridge? Here his imagery is of staying in place, thrown into contrast with the themes of travel that have been running through a lot of the songs so far and even ones to come. I might even draw a parallel between Thiessen's restlessness here and a line at the end of the album (shh, we'll get there when we get there).
Then Thiessen slows down to let "you" (the girl) know the truth, which is something she stumbled on and can't get away from easily. He doesn't really clarify the truth he's swearing to, so I'm left to assume he's talking about the subject of the chorus, because he's not just telling himself that the end of "you and me" is not the "end of the world." This is a sort of precursor to the mellowed out final song on the album, as well as Savannah, and just generally setting up a precedent for the slower, most retrospective aspects of music to come.
There's a lot of battle in this song between the chill, fun Relient K and Thiessen flipping out a little, and that, too, is why this song is central to the album. After "Part of It" and "Outro" Thiessen spends the next two songs coping a little, to the point where he's confident enough to say he's "Over It." But I'm getting ahead of myself a little. There's a weird bit in this song I can't quite figure out. Almost all the lyrics lists, and maybe even the official lyrics, seem to agree that the line is "giving (or given) out under the string," but I don't feel like the weight of the world would give out under a string. I've always sort of felt like that line should end in strain, but listening closely it's pretty obvious he's singing string. So I have no idea what that means, and it's weird. There ya go, not every little Relient K lyric is chock full of great hidden meaning. Or maybe it is, and I just can't get it.
Tomorrow we'll talk about "Therapy." I was going to say it's one of my favorite songs on the album, but you may have noticed I kinda love them all. See you then!
Actually, I'm doing it wrong. Not terribly wrong. I'm not putting words in God's mouth and persecuting His children for the sake of my own perverted version of justice. At least not consciously, or on a daily basis. If I do do that, I want you to tell me right away. If I'm a good man I'll shut up and walk away to pick myself apart in privacy. But yeah, like most people, I'm actually kind of good. But that makes my flaws all that much more terrible, and when I'm aware of that I pursue my Savior simply because He fixes like no one else.
I've mentioned before that I hate mistakes. The worst mistakes in my eyes are the ones that can't be fixed—that can't, in some way, be undone. I'm talking about mistakes you can't apologize for, that leave something broken and you powerless to make it better.
I follow Christ because there is no brokenness He cannot mend.
We've come to a sort of crossroads in our walk through Forget and Not Slow Down. "Part of It" is central to the album, both because it begins the middle of the emotional narrative and because of how it fills this space. Like "Candlelight" before it, this song has an afterthought (by the name of "Outro") which echoes the thrust of the song in moving forward through the album.
The most important aspect of this song from an album-wide perspective is that this is where Thiessen's "forget and not slow down" enamel cracks and we get a clearer glimpse of his condition. Pay close attention to what he says in this song:
Part of It
(lyrics by Matthew Thiessen)
I've been working with adhesives:
Chains and locks and ropes with knots to tether,
But nothing's sticking to the pieces—
I can't seem to hold it all together.
But you should know
Because that explains
Why this all just fell apart.
It's not the end of the world
Just you and me
We're a part of it—everyone
We're a part of it—everything
And if a nightmare ever does unfold
Perspective is a lovely hand to hold.
Well I've been trying to ingest this
But everything to me just seems like nonsense,
And I'm not sure if I can get it.
I guess it's time for me to grow a conscience
To combat the lapse
That explains why all of this simply collapsed.
It's not the end of the world
Just you and me
We're a part of it—everyone
We're a part of it—everything
And if a nightmare ever does unfold
Perspective is a lovely hand to hold.
It's been forever since I've gone
But I'm the Cusack on the lawn
Of your heart.
May be forever till I go
But before then you should know
I could tear that place apart
I could tear that place apart
I swear this to you
I wish that this was not the truth
But it's something that you fell into
And crawling out is hard when you
Are not so sure it's what you wanna do—
Not convinced it's what you wanna do.
It's just the weight of the world
Giving out under the string
We're a part of it—everyone
We're a part of it—everything
And when a nightmare finally does unfold—
A nightmare finally shows—
It's not the end of the world
Just a calamity
We're a part of it everyone
We're a part of it everything
And when a nightmare finally does unfold
Perspective is a lovely hand to hold.
Outro
(lyrics by Matthew Thiessen)
I swear this to you
I wish that this was not the truth
But it's something that you fell into
And crawling out is hard when you
Are not so sure it's what you wanna do
I swear this to you
(When a nightmare finally does unfold)
I wish that this was not the truth
(Perspective is a lovely hand to hold)
But it's something that you fell into
(Perspective is a lovely hand to hold)
This choice is hard to make when you
Are not convinced it's what you wanna do.
When a nightmare finally does unfold
Perspective is a lovely hand to hold.
----
First of all, Thiessen's word picture in this first verse is awesome. "Adhesives" obviously not restricted to glue, and all this because he's trying to hold together what he and She both know has already fallen apart. I'm also a big fan of the guitar work and the reflective tone Thiessen starts with that escalates quickly into the complex emotions presented in the chorus.
"It's not the end of the world, just you and me" puts it pretty darn well. "It" being Thiessen's continued insistence that life goes on, even as he admits he's a bit worse off than he first let on. It's not the end of the world, just a nightmare, just the weight of the world giving out, just a calamity. Not the worst thing, but it's bad. Yet the chorus ends with the poignant statement "perspective is a lovely hand to hold," which is exactly what Thiessen's trying to achieve so that he can rise above the raw emotional core. That seems to be the whole purpose of this album aside of a work of art. He can't forget the hurt, the unseating, until he puts it all in a proper perspective. And he's loosening a bit at the seams here.
He admits that he's trying to get a handle on things, but it's not settling in his stomach well and he's got some growing to do. Maybe that statement was a little too esoteric, but it's all there in the second verse, man.
Need more proof about Thiessen loosening at the seams? Check out the bridge. He's hanging around, making [some sort of movie reference involving John Cusack that almost entirely escapes me], and he might be around even longer. More importantly, before he leaves, you should know (and repetition helps you not forget) he "could tear that place apart." Nah man, he's not upset.
Another note about the bridge? Here his imagery is of staying in place, thrown into contrast with the themes of travel that have been running through a lot of the songs so far and even ones to come. I might even draw a parallel between Thiessen's restlessness here and a line at the end of the album (shh, we'll get there when we get there).
Then Thiessen slows down to let "you" (the girl) know the truth, which is something she stumbled on and can't get away from easily. He doesn't really clarify the truth he's swearing to, so I'm left to assume he's talking about the subject of the chorus, because he's not just telling himself that the end of "you and me" is not the "end of the world." This is a sort of precursor to the mellowed out final song on the album, as well as Savannah, and just generally setting up a precedent for the slower, most retrospective aspects of music to come.
There's a lot of battle in this song between the chill, fun Relient K and Thiessen flipping out a little, and that, too, is why this song is central to the album. After "Part of It" and "Outro" Thiessen spends the next two songs coping a little, to the point where he's confident enough to say he's "Over It." But I'm getting ahead of myself a little. There's a weird bit in this song I can't quite figure out. Almost all the lyrics lists, and maybe even the official lyrics, seem to agree that the line is "giving (or given) out under the string," but I don't feel like the weight of the world would give out under a string. I've always sort of felt like that line should end in strain, but listening closely it's pretty obvious he's singing string. So I have no idea what that means, and it's weird. There ya go, not every little Relient K lyric is chock full of great hidden meaning. Or maybe it is, and I just can't get it.
Tomorrow we'll talk about "Therapy." I was going to say it's one of my favorite songs on the album, but you may have noticed I kinda love them all. See you then!
Thursday, July 12, 2012
Disremember While Maintaining Speed
A lot of the time when I'm heading down the road in the car I wind up listening to a particular album. I've mentioned it before. It's my current favorite album of all time, Forget and Not Slow Down. I've been thinking, and I've decided I'm going to go through the whole album and give it the same treatment I gave "Sahara" a while back. I'll probably talk about Sahara when I get to that place, and link to the blog where I talk about that song in detail. I'll warn you again, if you're not prepared for a long blog post, save this for later. Because this is definitely going to be a doozy.
I'm going to start with the first song, which is titular (for those of you who don't know, that means it shares its name with the album). But before I let you read the lyrics of "Forget and Not Slow Down" I want to talk a little bit more about the album first.
When I did the blog on "Sahara" I think I gave some of the context for that song (and incidentally this whole album), in that Matt Thiessen, Relient K's frontman, suffered a pretty harsh engagement break-off not long before he was supposed to get married, and that experience was the fuel and subject matter for the album that came afterwards. Originally, this sounds like it might be a bad idea, but Thiessen has cultivated an artist's touch, the which he uses to exquisite ends in Forget and Not Slow Down. There's more to the framework I want to outline for the album as a whole. Thiessen has said (via an interview that had been posted on Relient K's Myspace back when bands were making Myspaces to connect with teens—back when people used Myspace) said songwriting for him works a lot like prayer, and I'd like to put forward that many (if not all) of the songs on FaNSD are prayers, and that the album as a whole functions in some ways like a confession, not necessarily of guilt, but of painful experience.
Part of what makes this fascination and so good is that in putting the album together like he did, Thiessen gave us a good long glimpse at his thought process. I'll be talking about that more down the road. But we'll start with the first song.
"Forget and Not Slow Down," as the initial song on the album, serves as an introduction to the rest of the work, and itself frames Thiessen's mindset. In short, he'd rather forget what's happened and keep moving than bog himself down by dwelling on it. This point is made pretty clearly in the song, because the phrase is repeated five times throughout the song, usually as part of the chorus. In fact, now I'll let you read through the lyrics to the song as I've heard them. There could be a few quibbles over a word or two, but I think this is a suitably accurate transcription of what Thiessen sings. So here you are, read for yourself:
Forget and Not Slow Down
(lyrics by Matthew Thiessen)
--the next station is Concourse B—Concourse B, as in Bravo--
How many times can I push it aside?
Is it time I befriended all the ghosts
Of all the things that haunt me most
So they leave me alone
Move on with my life
Be certain the steps of left and right
Don't fight the direction of upright
I'd rather forget and not slow down
Than gather regret for the things I can't change now.
If I become what I can't accept
Resurrect the saint from within the wretch
Pour over me and wash my hands of it.
It's time to decide she's out of my mind
'Cause it'll be me unless I put some thoughts to rest
And leave some thoughts behind
I'll wash the glint in my eye
Shine up the spring in my step
And it could be blinding depending
On the amount of You that I reflect
'Cause I could spend my life just
Trying to sift through what I could have done better
But what good do what ifs do?
Oh oh, Oh oh
There's something I should tell you now:
I'd rather forget and not slow down
Than gather regret for the things I can't change now.
If I become what I can't accept
Resurrect the saint from within the wretch
Pour over me and wash my hands
Pour over me and wash my hands...
'Cause I could spend my life just
Trying to sift through
What I could have done better
But what good do what ifs do?
Oh oh, Oh oh
There's something I should tell you
Oh oh, Oh oh
There's something I should tell you now:
I'd rather forget and not slow down
Than gather regret for what I can't change now.
If I become what I cannot accept
Resurrect the saint
Within the wretch
I'd rather forget and not slow down
Than gather regret for the things I can't change now.
If I become what I can't accept
Resurrect the saint from within the wretch
I'd rather forget and not slow down
Than gather regret for the things I can't change now.
If I become what I can't accept
Resurrect
Resurrect
Pour over me and wash my hands
Pour over me and wash my hands of it.
----
Now, you have noticed that Thiessen is saying he'd rather forget and not slow down, not dwell on the past and what it's down, but this is the first song of an album where he seems to do just that. I don't think that's a mistake, folks. There are a couple other notes I want to make about the album down here. There are a lot of things I'm saying about the album as a whole, but this song is kinda central to the whole thing, so this was to be expected.
Surprisingly enough for an album about a painful and difficult breakup, there are few songs that are handled with a mournful attitude. The whole first half of the album is pretty upbeat, at least musically. Later on we get to the quieter part of Thiessen's psyche, but not before we have some fun along the way. Quite frankly the music Relient K makes in this album is nothing short of beautiful, and in my own opinion Thiessen's performances are stellar, especially in their nuance. I think the beauty and "spring" in Thiessen's musical "step" for this album are part of the attitude he espouses here, in this first song. He's not going to slow down. He's not going to let his art get dragged in the mud by this experience. And he doesn't. Ugh, let me tell you—okay, I'll stop gushing and get on with the analysis.
The song begins very quietly, and without music. Instead you hear the rush of some public place of transportation, perhaps a trainway of some sort. If you (carefully) turn up the sound at the beginning, you can hear a female announcer clearly speak the words I put between dashes before the lyrics kick in. This little quirky intro sets the scene for moving on, just another flourish of a motif that occurs throughout the album.
Moving into the first verse, we hear that Thiessen is struggling with his demons. He keeps "push[ing] it aside" but it doesn't seem to want to let him go. He ponders ways to make peace with what he's dealing with, and his focus is to do this without compromising his integrity.
Then we hit the chorus. You'll notice that the song structure for "FaNSD" is fairly traditional with a couple verses and a catchy chorus that gets repeated quite often. Part of the catchiness of the chorus is one of the signatures of Relient K's song style: one line ends simultaneous with the beginning of the next. In this instance, the word "now" is sung at the same time as "if." The whole chorus isn't like this, but the usage of this make the chorus move forward more quickly than you'd expect for how many words in it. The other secret to fitting so many words in is that Thiessen can twist his tongue around pretty much whatever he wants to sing.
Aside from the idea that must be hammered home by now about forgetting and speeding right along, the chorus expresses another idea tied to Thiessen's desire for integrity. In the event that he falters, he asks God to bring out the best in him again. This is a pretty obvious interpretation of "if I become what I cannot accept resurrect the saint from within the wretch." It's an imperative statement, which includes requests, and it certainly isn't directed at himself. And to go along with that he includes strong Christian imagery in "pour over me and wash my hands." Christ's blood pours over us meta-literally to cleanse us, and it's in keeping with Thiessen's attitude to allude to Pilate's refusal to identify himself with those who called for Christ's crucifixion. Referring to the Godhead by His blood uses a literary technique called synecdoche, to use a part of something or someone to refer to the whole. This thematic element of the song recurs a few times in the album, and it points out that, while Relient K has gone "mainstream" (or rather, that the band is no longer confined to performing and producing albums under the "Christian" umbrella of the music industry) Thiessen and his bandmates have certainly not given up on their lifestyle, or on explicitly including allusions and direct references to their Christian lifestyle and the messages therein in their music. They just do it with a bit more class than usual.
In the second verse Thiessen is a lot clearer about what's bothering him, by slipping in the simple, loaded pronoun "she" as the subject that "it's time to decide" is "out of" his "mind." Or he'll be out of his. That's a clever play there, that's easier to see in writing than it is to hear it. It makes me smile. Then he talks about washing and shining two metaphors for a sunny disposition, for the purpose of reflecting "You." I capitalize You because I'm quite certain he's talking to God here, supported by the content of the chorus and the common Christian idea of "reflecting God's light."
And then, in case you didn't get it yet, Thiessen doesn't care to bother with "what ifs."
And the rest of what's interesting about the song is musical, because all the words from then on are repeated, other than the "there's something I should tell you" bit. That phrase is part of Thiessen's framing of the album, because he's telling you here, at the beginning of his album covering his experience and reaction to what's happened to him, that he's moving on from what's inside. This is his confession, his coping mechanism, his "Therapy."
And with that, my analysis of "Forget and Not Slow Down" is at an end. I encourage you to go take a listen to the song (and the rest of the album too if you can) to get a real taste of what I'm talking about in this blog post. See you tomorrow, when I'll (probably) talk to you about the next song on the album, "I Don't Need a Soul."
I'm going to start with the first song, which is titular (for those of you who don't know, that means it shares its name with the album). But before I let you read the lyrics of "Forget and Not Slow Down" I want to talk a little bit more about the album first.
When I did the blog on "Sahara" I think I gave some of the context for that song (and incidentally this whole album), in that Matt Thiessen, Relient K's frontman, suffered a pretty harsh engagement break-off not long before he was supposed to get married, and that experience was the fuel and subject matter for the album that came afterwards. Originally, this sounds like it might be a bad idea, but Thiessen has cultivated an artist's touch, the which he uses to exquisite ends in Forget and Not Slow Down. There's more to the framework I want to outline for the album as a whole. Thiessen has said (via an interview that had been posted on Relient K's Myspace back when bands were making Myspaces to connect with teens—back when people used Myspace) said songwriting for him works a lot like prayer, and I'd like to put forward that many (if not all) of the songs on FaNSD are prayers, and that the album as a whole functions in some ways like a confession, not necessarily of guilt, but of painful experience.
Part of what makes this fascination and so good is that in putting the album together like he did, Thiessen gave us a good long glimpse at his thought process. I'll be talking about that more down the road. But we'll start with the first song.
"Forget and Not Slow Down," as the initial song on the album, serves as an introduction to the rest of the work, and itself frames Thiessen's mindset. In short, he'd rather forget what's happened and keep moving than bog himself down by dwelling on it. This point is made pretty clearly in the song, because the phrase is repeated five times throughout the song, usually as part of the chorus. In fact, now I'll let you read through the lyrics to the song as I've heard them. There could be a few quibbles over a word or two, but I think this is a suitably accurate transcription of what Thiessen sings. So here you are, read for yourself:
Forget and Not Slow Down
(lyrics by Matthew Thiessen)
--the next station is Concourse B—Concourse B, as in Bravo--
How many times can I push it aside?
Is it time I befriended all the ghosts
Of all the things that haunt me most
So they leave me alone
Move on with my life
Be certain the steps of left and right
Don't fight the direction of upright
I'd rather forget and not slow down
Than gather regret for the things I can't change now.
If I become what I can't accept
Resurrect the saint from within the wretch
Pour over me and wash my hands of it.
It's time to decide she's out of my mind
'Cause it'll be me unless I put some thoughts to rest
And leave some thoughts behind
I'll wash the glint in my eye
Shine up the spring in my step
And it could be blinding depending
On the amount of You that I reflect
'Cause I could spend my life just
Trying to sift through what I could have done better
But what good do what ifs do?
Oh oh, Oh oh
There's something I should tell you now:
I'd rather forget and not slow down
Than gather regret for the things I can't change now.
If I become what I can't accept
Resurrect the saint from within the wretch
Pour over me and wash my hands
Pour over me and wash my hands...
'Cause I could spend my life just
Trying to sift through
What I could have done better
But what good do what ifs do?
Oh oh, Oh oh
There's something I should tell you
Oh oh, Oh oh
There's something I should tell you now:
I'd rather forget and not slow down
Than gather regret for what I can't change now.
If I become what I cannot accept
Resurrect the saint
Within the wretch
I'd rather forget and not slow down
Than gather regret for the things I can't change now.
If I become what I can't accept
Resurrect the saint from within the wretch
I'd rather forget and not slow down
Than gather regret for the things I can't change now.
If I become what I can't accept
Resurrect
Resurrect
Pour over me and wash my hands
Pour over me and wash my hands of it.
----
Now, you have noticed that Thiessen is saying he'd rather forget and not slow down, not dwell on the past and what it's down, but this is the first song of an album where he seems to do just that. I don't think that's a mistake, folks. There are a couple other notes I want to make about the album down here. There are a lot of things I'm saying about the album as a whole, but this song is kinda central to the whole thing, so this was to be expected.
Surprisingly enough for an album about a painful and difficult breakup, there are few songs that are handled with a mournful attitude. The whole first half of the album is pretty upbeat, at least musically. Later on we get to the quieter part of Thiessen's psyche, but not before we have some fun along the way. Quite frankly the music Relient K makes in this album is nothing short of beautiful, and in my own opinion Thiessen's performances are stellar, especially in their nuance. I think the beauty and "spring" in Thiessen's musical "step" for this album are part of the attitude he espouses here, in this first song. He's not going to slow down. He's not going to let his art get dragged in the mud by this experience. And he doesn't. Ugh, let me tell you—okay, I'll stop gushing and get on with the analysis.
The song begins very quietly, and without music. Instead you hear the rush of some public place of transportation, perhaps a trainway of some sort. If you (carefully) turn up the sound at the beginning, you can hear a female announcer clearly speak the words I put between dashes before the lyrics kick in. This little quirky intro sets the scene for moving on, just another flourish of a motif that occurs throughout the album.
Moving into the first verse, we hear that Thiessen is struggling with his demons. He keeps "push[ing] it aside" but it doesn't seem to want to let him go. He ponders ways to make peace with what he's dealing with, and his focus is to do this without compromising his integrity.
Then we hit the chorus. You'll notice that the song structure for "FaNSD" is fairly traditional with a couple verses and a catchy chorus that gets repeated quite often. Part of the catchiness of the chorus is one of the signatures of Relient K's song style: one line ends simultaneous with the beginning of the next. In this instance, the word "now" is sung at the same time as "if." The whole chorus isn't like this, but the usage of this make the chorus move forward more quickly than you'd expect for how many words in it. The other secret to fitting so many words in is that Thiessen can twist his tongue around pretty much whatever he wants to sing.
Aside from the idea that must be hammered home by now about forgetting and speeding right along, the chorus expresses another idea tied to Thiessen's desire for integrity. In the event that he falters, he asks God to bring out the best in him again. This is a pretty obvious interpretation of "if I become what I cannot accept resurrect the saint from within the wretch." It's an imperative statement, which includes requests, and it certainly isn't directed at himself. And to go along with that he includes strong Christian imagery in "pour over me and wash my hands." Christ's blood pours over us meta-literally to cleanse us, and it's in keeping with Thiessen's attitude to allude to Pilate's refusal to identify himself with those who called for Christ's crucifixion. Referring to the Godhead by His blood uses a literary technique called synecdoche, to use a part of something or someone to refer to the whole. This thematic element of the song recurs a few times in the album, and it points out that, while Relient K has gone "mainstream" (or rather, that the band is no longer confined to performing and producing albums under the "Christian" umbrella of the music industry) Thiessen and his bandmates have certainly not given up on their lifestyle, or on explicitly including allusions and direct references to their Christian lifestyle and the messages therein in their music. They just do it with a bit more class than usual.
In the second verse Thiessen is a lot clearer about what's bothering him, by slipping in the simple, loaded pronoun "she" as the subject that "it's time to decide" is "out of" his "mind." Or he'll be out of his. That's a clever play there, that's easier to see in writing than it is to hear it. It makes me smile. Then he talks about washing and shining two metaphors for a sunny disposition, for the purpose of reflecting "You." I capitalize You because I'm quite certain he's talking to God here, supported by the content of the chorus and the common Christian idea of "reflecting God's light."
And then, in case you didn't get it yet, Thiessen doesn't care to bother with "what ifs."
And the rest of what's interesting about the song is musical, because all the words from then on are repeated, other than the "there's something I should tell you" bit. That phrase is part of Thiessen's framing of the album, because he's telling you here, at the beginning of his album covering his experience and reaction to what's happened to him, that he's moving on from what's inside. This is his confession, his coping mechanism, his "Therapy."
And with that, my analysis of "Forget and Not Slow Down" is at an end. I encourage you to go take a listen to the song (and the rest of the album too if you can) to get a real taste of what I'm talking about in this blog post. See you tomorrow, when I'll (probably) talk to you about the next song on the album, "I Don't Need a Soul."
Monday, June 25, 2012
Religion and World-building
When you're creating characters of a different religious philosophy than your own, my best advice is to avoid stereotypes like the Contagion. And yes, you'll have to read Ashes of Silver to understand that reference.
Here are some examples to illustrate what I'm talking about. The Believer Who Never Asks Questions. The "Believer" Who Grasps for Power. The Ultra-skeptical Non-believer. The Non-believer Hero Because Heroes Aren't Stupid Enough to Believe.
You may notice that there are people in this life who absolutely fit into the schema presented by those stereotypes. I don't care. Reality holds more straw men than fiction is permitted. I'm also not saying that you can't have a believer with a strong faith or a non-believer who feels strongly about his unbelief. It's just that you need to be very careful when deciding what a character believes or you can end up with a flat, uninteresting character really fast.
Here's something I've observed. You can call Boopy Shenanigans if you want, but here it is: readers get bored really fast with characters who one-note on the opposite line of what they believe. For atheists/agnostics, that means characters who grapple with real faith issues can get dull because they perceive these struggles as a meaningless facade, and vice versa for people who are (relatively) sure of what they believe. It's even possible for people in the middle (not willing to discount the supernatural, but not willing to jump off the fence) to lose interest in anything not thoroughly steeped in gray.
Like I said, I could be wrong about this observation. It also makes writing really difficult, because I would like for my audience to be a bit more general than "Christians interested in reading Christian fantasy fiction." Because that means the only people who read my books will be the ones who specifically go looking for them, because the books sure as Tartarus won't be found in a secular book store like Barnes and Noble. At least not in the same section as all the other fantasy.
Another reason I don't want to go down that road is because not everything I write is going to have overtly Christian subject matter. For example, Ashes of Silver's universe doesn't necessarily have a God (at least not one that the people of Hearthstead are aware of) so the subject of service to Him is kind of a non-issue. That could be an issue if I let it be, but the world of Hearthstead wasn't exactly set up to tackle those sorts of questions. My cousin and I have always been a little too light-hearted about Hearthstead to delve into a theological mire in a world created originally as a stick-figure comic.
I want as many people as possible to read my work. Honestly, the money that would come from that is secondary or tertiary for me. What I want is the discussions. The "that was awesome!" and "this made me sad." I want to see people invested in the stories I tell. So that may be why I hesitate to launch into heavily theological themes in my writing. I want to be able to handle it in a way that keeps even staunch atheists invested in the story.
You may have noticed by now that I want to be able to have my cake and eat it too, then maybe have some pie afterwards. I certainly don't make things easy on myself.
So you can ignore my advice about the religiosity of your characters if you want. I think I originally intended it for a different purpose. Namely, that if you are an atheist you shouldn't make believer-characters in such a way as to make them easy targets for an agenda, and the same goes for believers and characters who don't believe the same. In my own writing life that means I tend to leave atheist characters less explored than I might, because I want to avoid characterizing them in a way that's inaccurate and two-dimensional.
When you're creating a world, it's also important to keep matters of theology in mind, even if that's to explicitly exclude an all-powerful deity from having created the universe. It's fiction, and you can do that. Especially if it's fantasy, because then you can explore what a world would really be like without God or followers of Him. You can also leave the question as open-ended as it is in reality, with great debates going about it. You can skip out on the wars. That would be nice, but unlikely if your people are anything remotely like humans. Then there will be war, whether it's over God or cheese. Sorry, but that's the cold hard truth.
The more time you invest into the metaphysical makeup of your fictional world, the better-sorted those issues are likely to be. That's a prediction, not a fact, by the way. But it stands to reason that since preparation rules in the rest of world-building, it should here too.
Well, that's all I've got this morning. I've been typing without contacts in long enough, and there's only so much of that to be stomached before I start punching faces that aren't my own.
Ciao.
Here are some examples to illustrate what I'm talking about. The Believer Who Never Asks Questions. The "Believer" Who Grasps for Power. The Ultra-skeptical Non-believer. The Non-believer Hero Because Heroes Aren't Stupid Enough to Believe.
You may notice that there are people in this life who absolutely fit into the schema presented by those stereotypes. I don't care. Reality holds more straw men than fiction is permitted. I'm also not saying that you can't have a believer with a strong faith or a non-believer who feels strongly about his unbelief. It's just that you need to be very careful when deciding what a character believes or you can end up with a flat, uninteresting character really fast.
Here's something I've observed. You can call Boopy Shenanigans if you want, but here it is: readers get bored really fast with characters who one-note on the opposite line of what they believe. For atheists/agnostics, that means characters who grapple with real faith issues can get dull because they perceive these struggles as a meaningless facade, and vice versa for people who are (relatively) sure of what they believe. It's even possible for people in the middle (not willing to discount the supernatural, but not willing to jump off the fence) to lose interest in anything not thoroughly steeped in gray.
Like I said, I could be wrong about this observation. It also makes writing really difficult, because I would like for my audience to be a bit more general than "Christians interested in reading Christian fantasy fiction." Because that means the only people who read my books will be the ones who specifically go looking for them, because the books sure as Tartarus won't be found in a secular book store like Barnes and Noble. At least not in the same section as all the other fantasy.
Another reason I don't want to go down that road is because not everything I write is going to have overtly Christian subject matter. For example, Ashes of Silver's universe doesn't necessarily have a God (at least not one that the people of Hearthstead are aware of) so the subject of service to Him is kind of a non-issue. That could be an issue if I let it be, but the world of Hearthstead wasn't exactly set up to tackle those sorts of questions. My cousin and I have always been a little too light-hearted about Hearthstead to delve into a theological mire in a world created originally as a stick-figure comic.
I want as many people as possible to read my work. Honestly, the money that would come from that is secondary or tertiary for me. What I want is the discussions. The "that was awesome!" and "this made me sad." I want to see people invested in the stories I tell. So that may be why I hesitate to launch into heavily theological themes in my writing. I want to be able to handle it in a way that keeps even staunch atheists invested in the story.
You may have noticed by now that I want to be able to have my cake and eat it too, then maybe have some pie afterwards. I certainly don't make things easy on myself.
So you can ignore my advice about the religiosity of your characters if you want. I think I originally intended it for a different purpose. Namely, that if you are an atheist you shouldn't make believer-characters in such a way as to make them easy targets for an agenda, and the same goes for believers and characters who don't believe the same. In my own writing life that means I tend to leave atheist characters less explored than I might, because I want to avoid characterizing them in a way that's inaccurate and two-dimensional.
When you're creating a world, it's also important to keep matters of theology in mind, even if that's to explicitly exclude an all-powerful deity from having created the universe. It's fiction, and you can do that. Especially if it's fantasy, because then you can explore what a world would really be like without God or followers of Him. You can also leave the question as open-ended as it is in reality, with great debates going about it. You can skip out on the wars. That would be nice, but unlikely if your people are anything remotely like humans. Then there will be war, whether it's over God or cheese. Sorry, but that's the cold hard truth.
The more time you invest into the metaphysical makeup of your fictional world, the better-sorted those issues are likely to be. That's a prediction, not a fact, by the way. But it stands to reason that since preparation rules in the rest of world-building, it should here too.
Well, that's all I've got this morning. I've been typing without contacts in long enough, and there's only so much of that to be stomached before I start punching faces that aren't my own.
Ciao.
Saturday, April 21, 2012
Cats and Immortality
My wife wants a Maine Coon if we ever get a cat. And I have to admit that such a cat would be pretty spectacular. The only problem with getting a cat is that I have hopes to spend stupidly high amounts of time with my cousin, who is pretty allergic to cats. I don't really like the hairless types much, either.
I also have this thing where I love animals but I don't really care for having pets. My family had pets when I was younger, but they all died/disappeared/were re-homed by the time I was fifteen, and I've never really wanted one again since. I got a bit attached to the ones we had, and knowing the stories of all their endings saddens me a lot. I also go to know how much work goes into having a pet, and I don't really want to put that much effort into something that, ultimately, is categorically incapable of loving me back.
You see, I don't believe animals have souls. Not that I don't believe heaven will be bereft of animals. I believe there will be all sorts of creatures in the place I'll be after the end of time, but I just don't think my dogs Buddy or Midnight will be among them. They aren't people. There's nothing immutable about them. Nothing to preserve.
Actually, I feel rather strongly on this issue. Maybe it was that one girlfriend I had who believed the opposite that fashioned this rather vehement streak in me. Maybe it's my pain at the loss of my pets. Maybe it was my upbringing (I will be the first to say that my parents were always loving to their animals and never spoke with bitterness about their status as not-people). But there, that's a thing about me that you may not have heard about. You probably haven't heard it because it's never come up, or because I keep to myself because there are those out there who would string me up by my small intestine if they heard me say that animals other than humans don't have souls. I really rather wouldn't have that conversation.
I mentioned earlier that I love animals. And I do. Because while rocks and blue skies and lakes are pretty enough, those things can't touch the heart-swelling (or panic-inducing) beauty of living things, be they trees or German Shepherds or giant squid. Earth is full of these wonderful creatures who should be respected and protected. Just not at the cost of human life.
That's where I draw the line. Never, when a human's life is weighed against the life of any other creature, should the other creature's life take preference. Not unless that creature is proven beyond a shadow of a doubt to be a sentient being with an immortal soul. For me, that is one definition of the sanctity of human life. It's also my big beef with utilitarianism.
The idea that the few be sacrificed for the many never really sat well with me. Yeah, there's Christ. I have feelings about that, too. Not heretical feelings. Just "Sometimes I wish there was a better way" feelings.
Now, though, I think I'm getting into deeper territory than this blog was intended for. If you're interested, hit me up about truth and right and God's plan some time. Preferably not during Finals week. Once I have my writing degree would be nice.
Right this instant I'm going to eat some bacon and watch Star Trek: Voyager with my wife.
Shrug out.
I also have this thing where I love animals but I don't really care for having pets. My family had pets when I was younger, but they all died/disappeared/were re-homed by the time I was fifteen, and I've never really wanted one again since. I got a bit attached to the ones we had, and knowing the stories of all their endings saddens me a lot. I also go to know how much work goes into having a pet, and I don't really want to put that much effort into something that, ultimately, is categorically incapable of loving me back.
You see, I don't believe animals have souls. Not that I don't believe heaven will be bereft of animals. I believe there will be all sorts of creatures in the place I'll be after the end of time, but I just don't think my dogs Buddy or Midnight will be among them. They aren't people. There's nothing immutable about them. Nothing to preserve.
Actually, I feel rather strongly on this issue. Maybe it was that one girlfriend I had who believed the opposite that fashioned this rather vehement streak in me. Maybe it's my pain at the loss of my pets. Maybe it was my upbringing (I will be the first to say that my parents were always loving to their animals and never spoke with bitterness about their status as not-people). But there, that's a thing about me that you may not have heard about. You probably haven't heard it because it's never come up, or because I keep to myself because there are those out there who would string me up by my small intestine if they heard me say that animals other than humans don't have souls. I really rather wouldn't have that conversation.
I mentioned earlier that I love animals. And I do. Because while rocks and blue skies and lakes are pretty enough, those things can't touch the heart-swelling (or panic-inducing) beauty of living things, be they trees or German Shepherds or giant squid. Earth is full of these wonderful creatures who should be respected and protected. Just not at the cost of human life.
That's where I draw the line. Never, when a human's life is weighed against the life of any other creature, should the other creature's life take preference. Not unless that creature is proven beyond a shadow of a doubt to be a sentient being with an immortal soul. For me, that is one definition of the sanctity of human life. It's also my big beef with utilitarianism.
The idea that the few be sacrificed for the many never really sat well with me. Yeah, there's Christ. I have feelings about that, too. Not heretical feelings. Just "Sometimes I wish there was a better way" feelings.
Now, though, I think I'm getting into deeper territory than this blog was intended for. If you're interested, hit me up about truth and right and God's plan some time. Preferably not during Finals week. Once I have my writing degree would be nice.
Right this instant I'm going to eat some bacon and watch Star Trek: Voyager with my wife.
Shrug out.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Bringing an Infusion of Confusion to the Table
I am a man. I know this as a legal fact. I am eighteen, voting in this year's "election" and capable of such radical new activities as marriage and the Selective Service. Yet somehow I cannot tell whether I am truly a man. So many of my behaviors seem merely vestiges of childhood and the purgatory American culture calls "adolescence."
I suppose the source of my perturbed spirit is that I am still in this awkward stage where I have not taken on the full responsibility for my own life. Fear still clutches me, whispering that I may not be strong enough, not qualified enough to take on the responsibility that barrels towards me like a freight train. More brain-scattering is that at this period in my life time has chosen to move at a sluggish pace. I am aware in time's normal progression, but my reactions are limited to the same rate relative to which the inexorable behemoth's approach. I can see the coming collision but can do nothing to throw myself aside. My only hope is to find some way to brave the impact, to ride on it and conquer it and make it my steed.
Indeed, too many men cannot see the weight of their responsibility as at the very least a catapult into their goals. All things may be means to an end. I for one believe in manipulating the means so that they match the end. If this means changing a "necessary" killing into the kind reconciliation found almost exclusively in fantasies, then so be it. The ideals of fantasy are not outside my reach. I am strengthened by the King of the Universe. With His strength I might become something entirely different from this meandering child I have been. He will make me a paladin.
Let me elucidate. I'm not talking shining armor. I'm talking the Grey-clad, the guy willing to debate even-handedly with the best in the nation wearing blue jeans and a grease-stained shirt. One who dares to understand, to look at the horrors no one else will and do something about it. Oh, the justice and the mercy. . . . I'm afraid of that man. But that's who He wants me to be, and that's who I will become.
But how to get there? No idea. Not getting many answers from the Big Man either. That's well. The biggest thing to learn is trust. Best way to learn it is to know He's there.
And go through the trials.
Here I go.
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